


MCiT One-Shots, or, I Should Probably Get a Better Name

by Sethenril (metisia)



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-17
Updated: 2017-08-17
Packaged: 2018-12-16 16:12:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11832318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metisia/pseuds/Sethenril
Summary: These have been sitting in my Google Docs account for a while and I doubt that they'll ever be finished.  So I kinda decided to post these half-finished, completely unconnected one-shots for pairs of Modern Girls in Thedas.(I'll probably leave the dates on them because they're not really new, and I'm sentimental like that.)





	1. 03.15.2016 - Saibh and Mebh, DAI or DA2

**Author's Note:**

> hey, i don't really know why you're reading this?? but, uh, thanks? i'll preface this with a warning that the numbers on the chapters are the dates when I wrote these, soooo...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Saibh is separated from her sister when she goes on a short walk to clear her head after a Halloween party and, by God, does she have "the Luck of the Irish." Which is to say, she has no luck, or the absolute fecking worst luck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sidenote: if you're wondering about the pronunciation of everyone's names,  
> Saibh : "sigh-ve," rhymes with "hive" or "dive"  
> Méabh : "mayv," "maeve" is another spelling
> 
> (PS, if swearing is not your jam, Saibh is not your gal to read about.)

My heart pounds like a drum in my chest- no, fuck the drum, a drum’s shite compared to the constant rupturing in my chest. My lungs burn in the explosions of my heart. And my legs, christ, my legs- calves, if you wanted to get technical- they feel like the muscles are on some torture device stretching me out. But, I keep running out of sheer rage-panic-desperation, past tree after tree after fucking tree. 

 

_ If I survive this mess I will never hound Méabh for forcing those god awful morning runs for years. _

 

I stagger for a second.

 

I can’t recall what happened to my sister. 

 

_ She’s fine, she has to be. Méabh’s always been the only truly athletic out of the pair of us- and if I’m still going, she sure as hell is. _

 

The branches crunching behind me get louder and I pick up the pace and hurry up getting out of this goddamn hell-hole.

 

People always talk about split-second decisions . They change the lives of storybook characters. Arthur grabbing the sword, Setanta hitting that dog, that sort of thing. But never in a million years did I believe in that shite. Still, that very moment I do the single-worst-thing someone can do when being chased will be etched into this _useless_ lump I call a brain. Years of warnings and emergency training from my parents and grandparents are effectively launched into the Toilet of Hell when I spot a break in the trees and rush into the clearing beyond it. 

 

My foot catches on something and I trip so slowly I’m certain I look like one of those slow-mo crash videos. It gets really fucking weird when my other foot leaves the ground and is past whatever stupid fucking thing I tripped on.

 

I stop.

 

I come to a complete fucking stop in mid-air and wait- in straight-up terror, I might add- for whatever bastard conducted this. My eyes dart around and…

 

Sweet fucking Jeysus Christ prancing on a pony, this whole thing got impossibly worse- how many people are there? Thirty? Forty? Hell, fifty? And why are they moving so fast? Or how? Both. Both of those answers seem fairly fucking crucial at this point. Is this like how “time is relative,” have I run into a fucked up science demonstration?

 

_ Please let that be the weirdest explanation for this. _

 

_ It’s likely not. _

 

The group breaks into a flurry of movement too quick for me to comprehend then, maybe some sort of cultish encircle?, at least as far as I can tell with my current stop-motion state preventing me looking behind myself.

 

_ Guess the Toilet of Hell was a bit weak with describing this situation: this is an evil-overlord shat in my tuba and laughed at the flaming toilet with teeth. _

 

People start fucking dropping like flies- I sure as hell hope I’m not so fucked as to be next. Because it’s not like they’re spontaneously falling. Oh, no, every single poor fuck that’s died has blood gurgling out of their goddamned throat. The urge to heave my lunch up is overwhelming and I’m dead certain- I drop to the ground and proceed to do just fucking that.

 

_ Good fucking Jesus Christ,  _ shite _. _

 

A shadow, taller and more extended than any human should be, looms over me. He’s talking, but I can’t bring myself to stop vomiting, dry heaving at this point, and listen. The distinct scent of of medicine coats my nostrils, anything’s better than sour, coppery tang of the air, and I’m splashed with a crisp, it’s the only word I can describe it as, liquid in my face. The... _thing_... prowls closer, rests it's hand on my shoulder, and digs one razor sharp claw into my shoulder.

 

The air sours rapidly, swelling around me and the creature. It twists and pulls me around like a rag-doll, something the wind most certainly should  _not_   _be doing, please and thank you_. Some debris from god-knows-where,  _do not fecking think about what it could be, Saibh, it's just debris_ , smacks me in the face, there's a god-awful roaring sound, that bastard's still got his freakishly-long fingernail embedded  _right_ in my shoulder...

 

And it's quiet and dizzying and empty and just too much and I've emptied my stomach out, and holy shit, this is  _madness, I just want to be home in my bed, who the hell did I piss off this badly, and God almighty, I am_ so _tired_.

 

My eyelids feel like someone's slapped hundred-pound weights onto them, the ground feels so soft and gentle underneath me, and there's this insistent pull to just take a thirty-second nap I can't ignore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you have any questions on any of the phrasing in this or what anything means, feel free to ask me.
> 
> (about a 605 word, cliff-hanger MGiT fanfic??? whAT)


	2. 06.12.2017 - Eleanora and Paisley, DA2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eleanora is not built for this: it's dark, cold, musty, there are glowing rocks, strange noises, and this might be a mine, but it is most certainly not her dorm room. Paisley, her roommate, has some questions she wants answered, now, but the answers are a little more surreal than she's prepared for. They would really, really, like to go home now, but, uh, several things seem off about their situation. Namely the whole "magic, swords, and talking rocks."
> 
> (AKA, two roommates find themselves in the Primeval Thaig while the Hawke Twins fight the Hunger Demon and Profane.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look, okay, i clearly left the majority of this unfinished, but, hey, this is titled old one-shots. i loved the concept of this originally (i was so hyped to write and incorporate soul mates into thedas) but, i dunno, i got into a bit of a writing funk since my summer classes picked up right after i started this so everything was left unfinished. (i mean, for chrissakes, they didn't even get to meet the Hawkes.)
> 
> also, i wrote this while i was with family and they were kinda scary and this was originally for fun but it was not fun writing this while we stayed with them

Eleanora wakes up to the sound of rocks scattering. It’s the sluggish, almost painful waking up you feel when you’ve slept for too long. There’s a dull ache in her head, and she’s struggling to focus. When she finally sits herself upright and looks around, she takes a long minute to process everything.

 

The rock she’s laying on falls away three-feet from her, and twenty feet away lies the opposite side of the same abyss. Columns hewn from rock reach towards an impossibly high ceiling, lit an eerie blue. Red stone creeps up the pillars and emanates a sickly red light along the stone floor. Massive piles of stone rubble tower above her, blocking the rest of the room from her.

 

As Eleanor moves to get up, a hand drags her back down while another covers her mouth. She whirls back to get a better look at her attacker. The discordant lighting does nothing to hide the panicked expression of her roommate, Paisley.

 

When the recognition settles in Eleanora’s eyes, she releases her grip. The hand on her mouth stalls behind it’s partner, an unspoken “keep quiet.” Questions still buzz on Eleanora's tongue, but a loud, violent clash echoes throughout the previously silent room. The two lock eyes, then hide further in the shadows of the nearest rubble pile.

 

Several metallic clamours follow the first crash. The smell of ozone accompanies soon after. The two press their backs against the measly shelter of the rocks as the din consumes the room. Eleanora holds her breath and counts the seconds.

 

A reverberating, almost inhuman, “ _Enough_!” cuts through the clang of metal against metal and the strange whizzing. A second voice responds, then a third joins in. she strains her ears to hear their conversation, but their quiet volume and the constant echoing renders them unintelligible.

 

She steals a look at Paisley, who’s crawled around their boulder to get a glimpse of the speakers. Eleanora swallows her heart back down; they’ve no clue who is on the other side of their hiding place, but panicking does nothing to remain unnoti-

 

Paisley immediately pulls herself back from view. Her mouth is slack jawed and her eyes haven’t been that wide since their mutual friend Amy had dared her to watch _Alien_ , and, just as the first alien burst through one of the scientists chest, she shot Paisley with a confetti cannon filled with red frosting. Her silence is equally as unsettling now as it was then. Eleanora begins to move towards Paisley, but is immediately pushed back by Paisley’s arm. The tremors in her roommate's arm travel through her.

 

It’s silent again.

 

The rumbling is distinct enough that she can pinpoint when it picks up again, then abruptly stops. The second and third voices remain indistinguishable, but Eleanora’s attention focuses on the growling that replaces the rumbling voice.

**Author's Note:**

> unless someone wants some sort of conclusion for these characters, but, uh, that seems unlikely, they're probably just going to end here.
> 
> also, hi, i love you for suffering through this, if you're curious as to how i had planned this out or what was going to happen, feel free to ask questions.


End file.
